A Simple Spar
by Flame Falcon
Summary: Prize-fiction for LegitElizabethWWEFan. I came here expecting a simple spar, to show my prowess to one many consider nothing more than a child. To test metal against metal in an altar of spectated combat. Instead, I received something else.


"Attack." The words left my mouth and I have already dropped down into a defensive stance. This blond haired warrior lunges forward, a misshaped blade in his hands. His blade comes down on my own with a great force, knocking my block aside and hitting the reflector shield that keeps us safe from the injuries we inflict upon each other. My opponent chuckles and takes a few steps back, beckoning me on. His name is Shulk, one of the new additions to the roster like myself.

I had been eager to practice my skills in between matches, so both my skills and my sword would never grow dull. I had been hoping that I would perhaps duel with my ancestor, perhaps even the Hero of the Radiant Blue Flame. Naga's arse, even the pansy elf would be a welcomed opponent. At least he has a sword that looks like one and he knows how to use it.

Instead I fight this child with a sword only one with a reckless imagination could conceive.

I brought my sword back in a vicious ripost, and struck him on the arm. His shields flared for a moment, as I landed only a glancing blow, but a blow none of the less. Shulk chuckles and he began to circle me, like a predator would do to his quarry. I am Lucina, decedent of the great Hero King Marth, not the prey of some enthusiastic child!

I attacked with great speed, my sword drove forward in a powerful attack. He skirted around the blade with an unnatural ease. He laughed again, and I barely blocked the next attack he threw at me. Does he really think this is a game? Only a lunatic or a brute would find joyful pleasure in fighting! "You need me to slow down?" He asked as his sword changed shape slightly, a merry smile on his lips.

Enough toying around with this child. I would finish this simple spar and return to more pressing matters. "I just wanted to be sure you could deal with me holding back." It was a lie, I was giving a considerable amount of effort in attacking him. I was never holding back, to do so was to invite defeat.

He laughed again. "Then let us see what benedictions you might offer." We clash again, each of us traded blows with our respective swords. His sword was unusual and had a wide set of attacks he could make with it, but it took time and effort to concentrate on the style he would be fighting with. My sword, while more along with the norm, was still a ferocious weapon to behold.

He swung in low from the side, I battered his attack away with a reverse grip hold of my blade. I moved in for an awkward attack, my sword still held backwards. Shulk kicked forward with his reinforced boot, and knocked it free from my grasp.

I ducked downward, grasping in desperation for my sword. Shulk seemed momentary surprised at my fast reflexes, and it is all the time I would need to wrap my fingers around the hilt of my sword before he came back to his senses and strike at me. His sword connects with my chest and I am launched backwards. I landed hard on my back, a bit winded from the powerful blow, but thankfully the shield generator strapped to my waist negated any truly damning physical damage.

Shulk came forward, his sword was raised aloft in a triumphant downward strike. I showed him the error of his ways and strike back with a brutal counter, and sent him tumbling on the floor of the sparring arena.

He was back on his feet in an instant, and comes forward at me again with his sword, swinging at my waist. I leapt backwards, and felt only the tip of his sword against my belt line. There is a brief flash of energy, very bright and blinding like seeing the sun after days of darkness. Odd, I did not think he hit me that hard.

He takes a step back and I see my chance. His sword is at an odd angle, not one of attack or defense. He doesn't realize it. I will show the folly of such a sloppy move.

I lunged forward, a battle cry on my lips upon seeing an opening in Shulk's defense. My blade struck home, followed by a grunt of pain and annoyance from the downed child. He stumbled back a few footsteps and I press this advantage. Time after time, I raise my sword and batter his defenses. Few have the ability, courage, or luck to outlast my tide of attacks. Apparently Shulk has at least one of them.

As I continued to attack, I got a good look into his sapphire eyes. They were the exact same shade as my own. But they seem… fragile, like two glass bobbles that could break if someone touched it. They are eyes that have seen much misery and death in his short life. A few years ago, I would be wearing the same set of eyes. Ordinarily such eyes would mean the possessor was weak and fragile. But yet Shulk seems… at ease almost every time I see him.

I am so engrossed in his eyes that I fail to notice that is have stopped attacking. I realize too late and am unable to block myself from the incoming blow. I try to put a gap between us, lessening the area the blade will strike at. It is slicing down my arm, and I expect the flash of light to protect me from the blade.

It doesn't come.

The blade carved down my arm, cutting through clothes and skin. I recoiled and let out a cry of pain, my opposite hand rushing towards the wound. It is a lacerating wound, but it is far from lethal. I have experienced worse, but since I was unprepared for it, the pain I feel increases sevenfold. I fall to my knees, a few stray tears of pain falling from my face onto the floor.

Immediately, Shulk is at my side. He tossed his sword aside and is fiercely apologizing. I then smell the bitter tang of scorched ozone and soon realize why I was wounded. Looking down at my waist, the small shield generator was overloaded and destroyed. That is why his glancing blow was so bright, and in retrospect I should have noticed that. However, I was so intent of beating this child for making me look like a neophyte with a sword that I failed to notice anything save my own anger.

"Let me see the wound." Shulk gently tugs on my injured arm, and I pull back. It is done not out of pain, rather out of shame. He had bested me and I did not wish to add insult to injury. It would be my shame to bear, and I did not want him involved anymore than what he had already done.

"A scratch, nothing more." I lie between my teeth and as the wetness of my own life fluid squeeze between my fingers. "I can handle it myself."  
"Of that I have no doubt. But please, let me see it." I feel his spare hand wiping away the tears that formed on my face. "Please." His voice became full of emotion, and those fragile eyes that spoke of loss and suffering yelled something else. Compassion.

I slowly let him take my arm, and he reached for a small pouch on his belt. As he unclasped the brass button that held it in place, he produced a greenish salve in a glass bottle. He poured the ointment on the wound, and before my eyes I watched as the injury began to clot. Once he has poured the unguent upon my arm, he reached for a roll of woolen bandages. With the hands of a master healer, he wraps the length of my arm in the cloth, so that if the ointment would fail, the pressure would keep the blood from being spilled out.

He then brought my arm to his lips and he kissed it gently. "To make it hurt less." He said with a smile. My face became flushed, not with anger or shame. Rather it is because I am so flustered that I cannot make any words come out of my mouth. "Is something else hurting?"

"N-no. Thank you though." I rise to my feet, the pain dulled to a tolerable degree. I came here expecting a simple spar, to show my prowess to one many consider noting more than a child. To test metal against metal in an altar of spectated combat. Instead, I received something else. "Would you care to escort me to my room? There is a pot of tea to refresh me after this spar. I can think of no one else I would like to share it with than you right now."

Shulk smiled, and those eyes helped that smile become evermore appealing. "I think I would enjoy that."

He picked up my sword and holds it out to me. I took it with one of my own rare smiles. He picked up his own sword and soon we walked out the practice arena in perfect unison. The pain would eventually go away, the arm would heal, and the tea would be gone.

But today, I received something that would last lifetime. And he was holding the door open for me, with that beautiful smile on his lips.


End file.
